Shambles
by Musamea
Summary: Hatred is not the opposite of love. CharlesErik, post X2. One shot, complete.


**Author:** Musamea  
**Title: **Shambles  
**Summary: **Hatred is not the opposite of love. Charles/Erik, post X2.  
**Disclaimer: **Marvel and Fox own everything. I just play in their universe.

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He had retreated into his office to escape the noise of construction and the mental pressure of a school's worth of confused children. Scott had insisted that they repair this room before any other in the mansion, so Charles at least had the semblance of normalcy once he closed his door on the rest of the world (_if he ignored the muted thud of boots and boxes in the hall, if he kept his eyes from wandering to the chess set beside his window_).

Sunlight poured through his windows like liquid gold; leaf shadows danced across his polished oak floor, as if the boards dreamed of standing straight and tall and _alive_ in their forests once again.

The telephone rang and he toyed with the idea of not answering it. Most of the students had contacted their parents immediately upon returning to the mansion, but there might be an anxious mother on the other end of the line (_or a curious reporter, a former student, even a friend_).

He didn't think he could talk to one more friend right now.

But years of instinct and his own practicality took over, and he reached out, picked up the receiver.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

"Hello, Charles."

He closed his eyes, heart pounding. (_And for what? Did love still have such a hold after all these years, or was this hatred?_)

"Erik." He could not help the tightness in his own voice, and for once he did not try to conceal this admission of Erik's continual hold over him. "What do you want?"

"I thought you would like to know that young Pyro is doing well." He wondered if there had been such a smug assurance to Erik's voice all those years ago, when they'd lived together at the mansion, when they had seemed like gods among men, with all the world ripe for the taking.

"John made his choice of his own free will. If you only called to gloat over that, I have nothing further to say to you."

"Too busy saving the world?" Erik's disdain was clear through the receiver.

Charles opened his eyes, glanced down at the heavy silver photograph frame, turned facedown, on his desk. "John and Elaine Grey will be arriving within the hour. I must greet them."

"Jean's hardly a student who needs you to--"

"Jean's dead." His voice was flat to his own ears, perhaps cold or uncaring to anyone else who could hear. Except-- (_Erik knew him too well, had always known him too well, had -- almost from the beginning -- never needed telepathy to understand him_).

A minute of silence; the line buzzed softly, then -- "I'm so sorry, Charles."

His anger flared at this. "Are you? As I recall, you were ready to kill her and any other X-Man who opposed you at Liberty Island. You only cared about the students when you could make use of them." (_The sound of a pencil striking Erik's desk, a frustrated sigh. "We should be training them to use their powers, not stuffing their heads with Catullus and Calculus!"_)

"I cared about Jean."

"You were jealous of Jean."

A short laugh. "Jealous of a prepubescent girl who couldn't control the voices in her head? I think your telepathy is slipping in your old age, my friend."

"It was her very telepathy, those 'voices in her head' as you call them, that you could not stand, wasn't it? That she and I could communicate without your knowledge or permission. You've never been good at sharing, Erik. Nor at moderation." (_Why did you do it? I did not think you were capable of such a thing_.)

"Are we still talking about Jean?" His voice was coldly amused, with a rust-colored hint of bitterness to it. "You always knew my intentions, Charles. There's no use pretending you did not, even if I did shield my mind from yours. You forgave me after Liberty Island, what makes Alkali Lake so different?"

(_Because you did it to _me_; I thought you would let the rest of the world fall, but never me._)

"You would have made me a murderer."

"That's not a good enough reason. You'll not make me play Jason to your Medea, Charles. I would have killed Rogue." He could almost hear Erik's shrug over the telephone.

(_I am not Rogue; you did not know her beyond her uses…I should have mattered more._) It almost frightened him that he could think such thoughts. "We are not talking about vengeance over slighted love."

"No? Has it not always smarted that I did not choose your dream?"

"The point is that I let you _choose_. I never used my powers over you to bend you to my own will. I did not play God. But you gave me no choice in the matter; I was just another tool, another weapon in your crusade."

"I would have created a new heaven and a new earth!" Erik's anger finally spilled into his voice. He found that he could take no joy in being able to provoke such a reaction.

"You would have created hell."

A knock sounded on his door and Ororo peeked in. He placed a hand over the telephone's mouthpiece and raised his eyebrows in enquiry. "The Greys are at the gate, Professor."

"Thank you. I'll be right out."

She nodded before retreating, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. The noise of the mansion rushed in to envelope him (_like a well-worn robe, like the familiar weight on his shoulders_).

"We're done, Erik--" (_I wish we could be done_.) "--I'm going now."

Before he could hang up, Erik said, "We'll never be done with each other, Charles Xavier."

And his voice betrayed no joy at the prospect.


End file.
